Daydreaming at Night

Sometimes, when I try and fail to sleep before 2 am, I lie in bed and make up scenes in my head. Actually, I’m making up scenes in my head all day long, but there’s something about that time between 12 and sleep that makes it awfully easy to allow myself imagine things I wouldn’t with full consciousness. Since I’m graduating right now, I’m making up a lot of snapshots of possible lives I could be leading in my future. A popular example is this:

I’m lying in bed with a guy who’s not particularly hot, but sweet-looking. Maybe it’s night, maybe not, but we’re not there to sleep. Not what you’re thinking, either. My head is on his stomach or maybe my legs are under his legs or maybe we’re so intertwined that my body is hurting on several parts but it feels wonderful anyway. We both have our eyes open, and we’re blinking really slowly, and no one says anything for a short while or maybe even a long while.

Then, at some point, I say, “14 year old me would love how my life’s turned out.” I would say it in English, but I wouldn’t have thought about how I was going to say something in English so much beforehand that I’d have stumbled through my words like I do now. In fact, my accent would be much weaker. I’d speak more of a British English or maybe Irish or maybe Scottish or maybe Canadian.

The sweet-looking guy would say, “You mean being financially independent from your parents?” or something smarter and funnier that I couldn’t think of if I tried right now because he’d be different from me and maybe even smarter. Definitely smarter than I am now. His accent would be British or Irish or Scottish or Canadian and I would’ve learned to easily differentiate between those.

I would smile, which he might not see in our position, but he’d hear it in my voice as I’d say: “No, living in England / Ireland / Scotland / Canada with my hot British / Irish / Scottish / Canadian boyfriend.” Because even though he wouldn’t be particularly hot, I’d find him extraordinarily hot.

And that’s where that fantasy ends. I’m not sure what this should tell me. Or tell anyone, really. Maybe that I’m straighter than I think I am, or maybe that this should better stay in my head because in reality, I’d miss my family like hell and maybe break up and definitely I’d have paid so much for my chance to live that life that I’d feel too guilty to come back home if I wanted to. I don’t know. Maybe the reality would be a shit ton better but I’m never going to find out because I’m such a coward.

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